


To Be Mortal

by FantasticalFairyFarmer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticalFairyFarmer/pseuds/FantasticalFairyFarmer
Summary: Regulus Black survives switching the locket and unintentionally changes the fate of the Wizarding World.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	To Be Mortal

Regulus held the transfigured locket in shaking hands. Downstairs, he could still hear the gentle swing of music and chatter from the party.

He looked at the door. He could still go back in. Barty would probably make a joke at his expense about what he had been doing for so long, holed up alone in his bedroom. Narcissa would send him an outwardly judgmental sneer over her cup of wine, concern and unasked questions in her eyes. And that would be the end of it. No one would have to know he considered leaving at all.

But then Regulus thought about the countless nights he spent sitting in a curtained bed after dark in Hogwarts, reading text after text on dark magic by the glow of wand-light. He recalled the feeling of the world sweeping out from under his feet when he realized what exactly Kreacher had seen.

Regulus’ grip tightened on the false-locket. No backing down now. He lifted the note he had penned off of his desk and slipped it inside. 

“Kreacher,” Regulus called quietly, so that any guests who happened to be loitering outside the family quarters would not overhear. The elf popped into the room with a crack.

“Master Regulus?” Kreacher croaked. Regulus looked at his friend, heart breaking in his chest. He thought of the way the elf had looked that night: soaked to the bone, spitting poison and broken words of incomprehensible horrors.

Regulus had always known he was not a good man, but he only then did he recognize he was truly a terrible one for making Kreacher relive this nightmare.

Regulus knelt down to his level and looked his caretaker in the eyes. “Kreacher, I need you to take me there—back to where the Dark Lord took you. The island in the lake you spoke of.”

Kreacher’s eyes widened and flicked down to the locket. Regulus saw as understanding followed by panic filling the elf’s features. “Master Regulus!” he sputtered, “Kreacher cannot—”

Regulus gripped the elf’s arm with his free hand in a poor attempt to convey comfort. “Please, Kreacher,” he said, voice shaking, “I need to do this. _Please_.”

Kreacher hesitated momentarily, ears drooping, but eventually he nodded. With another crack, the elf apparated them away, into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Regulus stumbled a bit as they apparated in, gasping for breath. Waves of nausea hit him hard. The air seemed unnaturally thick and smelled strongly of rot.

When he felt well enough to do so Regulus looked around. This wasn’t the dark cave Kreacher had described entering through the first time—the wise elf must have taken him straight to the Dark Lord’s monstrosity. His friend had spared him some of the terrors, at least.

“Thank you, Kreacher” he whispered to the elf who shook at his side, voice fading out when caught sight of an object meters to his left. In the center of the small rocky island on which they stood was a marble basin filled with a glimmering dark green liquid.

Regulus staggered toward it. With every step, the shards of rock beneath his feet clamored against itself, the sound of it echoing in the hollows of his chest. When he finally reached the basin, it almost seemed to radiate the madness Regulus knew lay within it—every inch of the stone was evil to its core. At the bottom of the vat, he could just barely catch the glint of the true locket.

Regulus, less than a year ago, would not have been able to fathom the insanity that it took to destroy a relic of the wizarding world. But in the months of research that led up to this moment, he had learned enough of the selfishness and cowardice of the Dark Lord to know that humans are capable of anything.

He took in a slow, rattling breath and knelt, pulling a small glass goblet out of the folds of his robes. Kreacher reached for the glass with a trembling hand. 

“No, Kreacher, it’s alright,” Regulus murmured, gently pushing his hand away. Regulus would not let the elf suffer again. 

Regulus dipped the goblet into the basin, hands shaking, and filled it to the brim with the potion.

It was dark, smelled of fire and gasoline, and looked not unlike sludge. Regulus brought it too his lips and downed it all. Immediately, he doubled over.

The liquid burned his insides. Regulus almost felt that it was alive, clawing itself forth from his throat. It took all of his strength to not spew it over the rocks.

“Master Regulus—” Kreacher wailed, voice breaking hopelessly.

Once he could stand, he looked back into the basin and in despair. There was so much more, yet he could hardly bring himself to dip the cup in a second time.

 _Barty would drink it_ , Regulus thought to himself, _Barty, ever proud, wouldn’t even think twice._

Regulus gave the glass to Kreacher, wordlessly asking him to give Regulus the next dose.

His friend openly sobbed now, tears mixing with the poison.

Regulus took the glass from him and raised the glass to his lips, turning away from the basin to face the sea. It was the wrong choice—as he drank and looked inside the depths of the murky water, he saw the unmistakable shapes of the dead.

He choked down the rest of the glass, but it did not have the effect he craved. “Water,” he gasped, each word a knife in his throat, “water, _please_.”

Eyes on the bodies in the sea, Regulus came to the realization of his future. He was to join them.

The poison, whatever it was that he drank, was not enough the kill an elf, but almost certainly enough to kill a man. And, if he did miraculously survive it, he would more likely than not succumb to the depths of the dark water that surrounded them and all of the horrors within it.

He would never go back downstairs, never again joke with Barty or make judgmental eye contact with Cissa. His mother would note his absence and be disgusted by it, for a few days, before coming to the realization that something even worse than social faux pax had taken place. He would have a funeral—if the Dark Lord never came to know of what he had done, maybe his family would be allowed to attend.

Cissa and Barty would cry. Bella would probably sniff and say he was weak.

Kreacher would return alone to Grimmauld. He would probably be blamed for Regulus’s disappearance. Regulus wondered if they would punish him. He thought about having his caretaker’s blood on his hands in the afterlife.

Regulus sobbed and fell to his knees. He felt Kreacher take the glass from his hands and refill it before returning it to him.

 _Cissa would drink it_ , Regulus pushed his hand into the sharp rock, splitting open the skin on his palms, _Cissa would see all that was at stake and know what it was her duty to do._

Without him, there would be no male heirs to the House of Black. Good riddance, really. Regulus tipped the liquid into his mouth.

He would never see his cousin’s children. He would likely never be more than a story of what not to do in life, to them.

Regulus watched dispassionately as his tears wet the rocks. “Water, I need water,” he cried.

Here, on the precipice of a cliff from which he knew he could not return, Regulus let himself think of the name he had forced himself to push away for five long years.

Regulus wondered if Sirius would come to his funeral. If he would be allowed to come. Oh Merlin, _Sirius_.

What would his brother think of him? Would he forever be the failure? Or—or had he already been forgotten, replaced by the bolder and brighter Potter?

The guilt of inaction carved away at his soul, piece by piece by piece, and Regulus felt the hollow in his chest grow larger and larger and larger. Kreacher pushed the glass back into his hands.

 _Sirius would drink it,_ Regulus thought desperately, _Sirius would laugh and say he’s drunk butterbeer stronger than this_.

But wasn’t that the crux of the issue? Regulus Black was not his brother. He brought the glass to his lips.

Regulus was not boisterous, not personable. He was the quiet child, the forgotten heir. Regulus was not proud, not willing to fight for all that was right. He tipped the glass back and drank.

The glass fell out of his hands and shattered on the rock as the strength left his body all at once.

Regulus was no lion in the sun. He was no more than a snake in the shade, dreaming of the glory of dragons. Distantly, he felt Kreacher take the locket from his hand. “Water,” he begged the elf, “Water.”

He looked out to the sea. Water, water, water. He crawled to it, aching for its depths with every inch of his body.

There was no going back from this. Even if he returned to the last dredges of the party, he could not return to being the vacant body he needed to be at home. He had not been able to be that shell of a boy since the night Kreacher returned against all odds.

Was it his destiny to be a hollow body anyways? He watched the white bloated bodies writhe. Was that all that he was, in life and soon in death? Regulus stopped crawling, curling up on the rocks and desperately wishing for someone, anyone to take the pain away.

But who was to come? If anyone, even his family and closest friends caught wind of what he had considered doing, he would be killed for breaking loyalty. Even Sirius knew loyalty—to his new family, to that stupid _Order_.

Not a lion, not a badger.

Regulus snorted through the wet, hot tears pouring out of his eyes, stopping just before the edge of the water. Not even an eagle—it had taken him five years and a house elf to realize he was on the side of death and destruction. None would call that a sign of intelligence; Sirius had seemed to know from the moment he was born.

He reached for the water.

But then he heard Kreacher’s cries behind him, felt the cool press of the true locket in his hands. He looked up at his oldest, truest friend, and knew he needed to live. He needed to live for Barty, for Cissa, for Sirius, for _Kreacher_.

So yes, lest it not be said that Regulus Black was brave, loyal, or smart. But a snake he was, born and bred, indisputably ambitious to his core. He knew how to give chase to his goals, patiently and relentlessly.

And for the first time in the sorry eighteen years he had known this earth, Regulus Black chased life.

He turned, grabbed Kreacher’s hand and closed his eyes as the world swept out from under him with a pop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there are so few regulus fics this just needed to be done


End file.
